In the hallowed halls of Sumeru City's Akademiya, where the air thrummed with the weight of ancient knowledge and the faint glow of Dendro runes pulsed along marble walls, the Six Sages' Council convened to deliberate Inazuma's ambitious proposal. The chamber, adorned with intricate tapestries depicting Sumeru's scholarly lineage, buzzed with tension as sages reviewed the offer: three hundred million Mora for public-funded students and one point eight billion to fortify Amurta, Spantamad, and Haravatat colleges. Scrolls littered the table, their edges curling under the scrutiny of Sumeru's intellectual elite, each sage weighing the balance of power and profit.
Grand Sage Bona, his white hair gleaming under crystal chandeliers, sipped Hu Tao Villa tea, its floral warmth a fleeting comfort against his weary bones. "For Amurta, I vote yes," he declared, his voice steady but laced with the exhaustion of eighty-seven years. His endorsement set the tone, a testament to his decades steering Sumeru's academic course.
"Spantamad agrees," said a sage, her eyes sharp with calculation.
"Haravatat concurs," added another, his tone measured, fingers tapping a quill.
The remaining schools—Vitalist offshoots and minor factions—nodded approval, their agreement driven by self-interest. Though excluded from the main funds, they'd reap scraps of Inazuma's wealth, a taste of Mora for their research. Amurta, Bona's bastion, stood to gain most, having swelled a fifth in size due to Inazuma's prior aid. The promise of research funding silenced dissent; no sage would squander such a windfall. Scholars lived for Mora-fueled experiments, and Inazuma's generosity was a siren call none could resist.
As the council dispersed, Bona lingered, his gnarled hands clutching the teacup, its heat fading like his own vigor. The ten-year Inazuma contract was his final act for Amurta and Sumeru, a capstone to a career of fairness and mentorship. Now, he craved retirement, yearning to pursue one last project unburdened by administrative chains. His steps echoed through the Akademiya's corridors as he headed to the Sanctuary of Surasthana, where lotus-scented air and verdant energy enveloped the grounds. Lesser Lord Kusanali sat on a Dendro-woven swing, her childlike form radiating ancient wisdom, her emerald eyes soft yet piercing.
"Bona, what brings you?" she asked, her voice a gentle rustle, like leaves in Sumeru's rainforests.
He bowed, his frame stooped by time. "Your Grace, I thank you for entrusting me as Grand Sage. But my body is a withered tree, my inspiration a parched spring. At eighty-seven, I can't taste the richness of meat, fish, or crisp apples. I resign to spend my final years in quiet experimentation."
His life flashed before him: youth chasing power and pleasure, midlife purified by knowledge, late years devoted to Sumeru's growth. Now, he longed to wander its rainforests, sandwalls, and deserts, free from paperwork's shackles. Kusanali, her gaze tracing his weary lines, recognized his brilliance—among the top ten Grand Sages, his thesis format a lasting legacy. As Buer, the God of Wisdom, she loathed losing him but saw his frailty. "My sage, you'll always be mine," she said, her voice carrying divine weight. "I bless you with life and forest's vitality." Dendro energy swirled, vines brushing his shoulders, yet his mortal limit loomed, untamed by even her power. Sumeru's finest doctors, many his students, confirmed his time was short.
Bowing farewell, Bona's spirit lightened, as if shedding his title unburdened his soul. In the Sanctuary's courtyard, where banyan trees filtered golden light, Leando, the new Vitalist sage, approached. "Teacher," he greeted, his forty-something frame brimming with energy. A medical prodigy, Leando had crafted a 90% toxin-neutralizer and a "smart drug" inspired by Reisen Riou's casual remark, unlocking dormant brain regions—language or motor skills, though unpredictably. Refinement awaited.
"Vitalists are yours," Bona said, clapping Leando's shoulder, his smile warm but tired.
"Visions next?" Leando asked, glancing at Inazuma's ship at the port, its sails catching the desert breeze.
"Not yet. Old friends first," Bona replied, eyes glinting with anticipation.
His final project—studying Vision composition—was a Grand Sage's sacred pursuit, using empty shells, common among Teyvat's elite. In Inazuma, noble families hoarded ancestral shells, while Okuzumeshu bequeathed Electro Visions to the Shogunate, symbols of Narukami's favor. Reisen Riou, once touring the Shogunate's vaults, had marveled at three warehouses of shells, mostly Electro, per meticulous records.